


A series of Ends

by ForcedRedacted



Series: Men & little Monsters [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2020-10-10 04:21:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20521856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForcedRedacted/pseuds/ForcedRedacted
Summary: This was initially for a prompt piece but, y'know, I think I might just put the alt stuff here that isn't actually in the main J&T series





	1. Prompt #1: Voracious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voracious  
wanting or devouring great quantities of food.  
-or-  
having a very eager approach to an activity.

Ardbert join with her soul in the flash of light, and she surged upwards only to crumple to the ground. It wasn't _enough,_ the light within her expanding outwards to wrap her in a coccoon before fading. A moment of stillness held those gathered, before two vicious black blades burst upwards, jutting out and tearing to the sides so that she could slowly pull herself free. 

She was the same, and yet... Not. 

Blades drifted about her, orbiting her compact form, glinting and catching the light to send rainbow reflections across the ground. A curled tail had sprouted from her waist, and it shifted up to flick from side to side, like that of a gremlin even as she slowly straightened. Her chest expanded, a deep breath filling her lungs even as two large bat-like ears perked up and then laid back, angling and picking up sounds as they came to her, a sense of _listening_ filling the air around her. 

The basic proportions were the same. She was still short, compact and lean in the way a hippocerf was lean almost to the point of emaciation, but her legs were digitigrade and ended in flexible, clawed feet that were more remeniscent to hands than anything one might walk on. They dug into the platform, drawing lines as she slowly flourished first one blade, than the other. 

Her hands were backwards, Emet-Selch noted idly, tipped with the same type of claws as her toes were. And those ears, they were the same shade of off-white as the veritable mane of hair that cascaded down and largely covered the boney protrusions that ran down her spine. It perfectly framed the heart-shaped owl-esque mask that was blank save for the two bottomless black pits that were her eyes. Her skin was rough and cracked in places, leaking soft motes of light-based aether even as she looked down to take stock of herself, running the back of her hand against her naked, otherwise unblemished torso that was dominated by her ribs, largely visible through her skin, and a soft sound keened out from her. 

"Hero?" Ryne made the mistake of speaking, of moving first, and it drew the newly born Lightwarden's attention. Both ears flicked up and then laid down as she turned, head tilting to the side to a degree that would have been impossible for a hyuran neck to manage without breaking. 

"Ryyyneee~." The name was cooed out of the Lightwarden, and she turned to properly orient on the former oracle of light. "Ryne, sweet girl~. You grew so strong so quickly..."

"She... She remembers us!" The girl started forward, looking happy as she reached out with her arms. "I can- She's still fighting, I can help her-"

Thancred was the only one that reacted fast enough, lunging forward to snag Ryne's arm and haul her back, even as he moved to put himself defensively in front of her as the Lightwarden vanished and reappeared immediately on front of him. The curved blade found a home in his gut, and lifted him by the weapon she had impaled him with, bringing him closer to her face as he brought the gunblade down onto her head. It fired, an explosive retort that did nothing more than riffle a few of the strands of her mane. 

"Thaaancred~. Dirty, mean little _street rat_." Her voice had a slight echo to it, and as she stepped in to lean and bring her face close to his own he slowly went limp, breathing shallowly. "You _owe_ me~, and I... I must _collect_." 

"Run." Urianger's voice was choked, and he reached to grab Ryne by the arm as he focused and led the rest of the Scions away. She let them go, even as the midlander in her grasp withered and stared up at her blankly. She drew her sword free of his chest, and watched as he slowly started to bleed. 

"Criiimson flooowers~..." Sing-song, the words emerged from her as she laughed, high and quick in the back of her throat and turned to stare at Emet-selch and coo. "Ohhh~, handsome, lo-ve-ly!" 

"I'm afraid I'm not on the menu, Eater." His lips curled into a smirk as the entrancing effect of her voice and gaze were ineffective against him. "Truly, are you going to let them get away?"

"What is the Hunt, without the fleet of foot Prey?" She seemed confused, before turning towards the wheezing, gasping Thancred. Bending down, the mask shifted and angled upwards as her entire head split wide to reveal a tooth-studded maw. The tail came around, wrapping around the torso as she started to hungrily tear chunks of the gunblade free. He didn't protest, already lost to the concept of 'repayment' as she feasted on his aether and flesh alike. She left naught but empty clothes, and she drew herself up as the mask folded back down into place, covering the horrible jagged toothed line that hid beneath it.

And then she was off.

* * *

Urianger was a smart man. Y'shtola was also a smart woman, and knew what he planned as his pace slowed. 

"Don't you _dare_ stay behind to buy us time!" 

"Thou knows 'tis the only way. With my aether to act as bait, I may yet lead her on a merry chase and buy thou and the Scions time." He smiled at her, lifted a hand to wave and then hung a sharp left, bolting along the avenues. He could feel Y'shtola's aether as it headed away, shepherding the others towards the aetherite as he focused his own efforts. 

He drew cards. He studied the answers they claimed to hold, and laughed a short, bitter sound with every reading even as he slowed to a stop. Life, life and more life. And, the slight chance of _death_.

He was to be raised as a sin eater. He didn't need to look back to know that the Lightwarden was there. The way the ambient aether was being drawn in that direction was proof enough, and he wove one hand up to wrap himself within a barrier, for all the good it would do him. 

"Does anything of the Warrior of Light yet live within thy heart?" 

"Uri-anger Aug-er-elt." His name was cooed out of her, and he closed his eyes even as he wavered and fought to keep the sound from curling into him, curling _through_ him. "You _owe_ me. Liar. Traitor. Minfillia and Moenbryda. Mm~. _Me_. Look! Look what _you did_." 

The flat of one blade was dragged across the barrier, and it shuddered under that barest of caresses. Against his will, he turned, eyes clenched tightly shut. "Loook at me~. _Look at me._ LOOK AT ME!!!"

The words rose into a howl, and the _command_ forced his eyes open to find her there, inside his barrier, mask mere inches from his face. It tilted far too far to the side. 

"Do you want _forgiveness?_"

The question hung heavy in the air, and with all his heart he wanted to say _yes_. His mouth even opened to answer thus, but instead he surged forward to press his hands on either side of the mask, digging his fingers into the mane and pouring his aether into an attempt to combust the both of them. She ate the spell as he cast it, and he staggered with the rush of mana as it exited him, sending him toppling into her gentle embrace. 

One of the shards that orbited her drifted down, and ever so delicately slid into his chest as he lay there, gasping. 

"Sleep. Wake. Join my _Hunt_. We? We will _feast_." 

And then she was gone, leaving him laying on the floor as light burned through his veins.

"Ahh, Moenbryda..." Urianger rasped, one hand cupped over the shard as the other pulled one of the sharper stars from where they hung like decorations. He brought it to his throat, the shaking in his hand stilling. "... I pray to see thee..."

* * *

They made it to the Crystarium. They even managed to form a passible defense as Eulmore fell. They received mixed reports, people dying to sin eaters and one sin eater devouring the others. 

They knew it wouldn't be enough. Still, when she made her way to the Crystarium they raised the shields only to watch in horror as she tucked both hands against the barrier. It rippled, and the Crystal Tower hummed as Alphinaud and Alisaie tried to maintain the connection in the Exarch's absence. First one, than the other dropped from exhaustion as she _drank and drank and drank_, until eventually the luminescent tower itself went dark. 

The barrier vanished, and she walked in. 

"All of you~. All of you _owe_ me~. Me! You owe _me_! It was _me_, that brought back the darkness. It was _me_ that ran your errands, fixed your things and gave you words of _joy_ when you could find none! You _OWE_ me! I _SAVED_ you!" Both hands raised up, voice clear right to the back of those that had gathered to offer a measure of resistance. "You will _pay_, with your aether. With your meat. Ohh~, but I'm just... So _hungry_..." 

A dagger sank into her side, and she tilted her head to look down at the red-eyed, crying girl that had stabbed her. 

"You... You were the _best_ of us." Ryne drew in a choked breath, drawing the dagger out and stabbing _again and again and again_ as the Lightwarden simply tilted her head too far to the side. "You killed Thancred! You killed everyone at Eulmore! You killed-"

The sound came to a choked end as the tail lashed out and curled around her throat. 

"Were? _Am_. Is. Always will be. Little Ry-ne~... My voice, it doesn't _reach_ you, does it. Tisk tisk tisk. Thancred was _dry,_ like an old withered bittered fruit. You? So fresh. So _sweet_." The words came out in a cheerful chirp, and she gestured to the gathered 'resistance' that was staring at them vacantly, weapons lowered. "Unlike them. _Bland_. I think. I will keep you. Ohh, but only to _snack_. So hard. No, no, ohh~ but you're just. So. _Sweet_."

Fire bloomed around them, and the Lightwarden turned to glance upwards at where Y'shtola stood with the Night's Blessed along the walkway. 

"Don't let up! Burn the Lightwarden to the ground!"

The Eater almost delicately let Ryne go, ignoring the way the girl scampered off as spells and arrows did little more than ruffle her great mane.

"Y'shtola. Even _you_ grew. You became the 'Mother'. The Harpy. The Hen. You scolded and laughed, the Sister. I _loved_ you, and you _used_ me. Just like _them_."

"Did you love Urianger, when you drained him of his aether and devoured his bones?" The miqo'te leveled the staff once more, only to freeze as a chuckle was cooed out from behind her. 

"Urianger... I gave him _forgiveness_ and he... He _spat_ on it. Oh, but how his blood _sparkled_. Like fae wine! Ohhh, do I _thirst_... You owe me. The Night's Blessed _owe_ me..."

Y'shtola staggered as a great maw decended onto her shoulder, tearing a great chunk out, and just like those near her, she simply smiled vacantly. 

"We owe you..." Echoed the Miqo'te as she slumped back into the gentle embrace that caught her. 

* * *

The Lightwarden strolled into Il Mheg, and stopped a moment to admire the flowers. Oh, but the land was _rich_ in aether. She could feel it, could _feed_ on it, enervating the land and humming melodically to herself as the flowers screamed and withered, dying. The unnatural fog in her vicinity faded, vanishing as she drained that, too. The land of the Fae was the last one left. She had _saved_ it, because Ryne was there. Because Feo Ul was there. Because it promised to be _sweet_ and _tasty_, and of _course_ the last spot of colour on the Star should be the most _beautiful_. 

"My precious Sapling. Look what a _monster_ you turned into." 

She tilted her head too far to the side as she pushed herself up and turned, facing King Titania, and for a moment she _listened_. Disappointment rounded her shoulders. 

"My _Prey_. What did... You do...?"

"Sent her away. They're all gone now, my precious, poor, doomed Sapling." That once smiling, laughing mouth was pulled into a frown as the Madbloom hovered. "Just you and me."

"Do you... _Really_ think you can beat me?" 

"No. I am bound to the land as I am bound to you. You cannot go where they have, so long as I stay. Tell me, do you think you can keep me alive long enough to turn me? Can you _resist_ that long?" Titania laughed mirthlessly, hollow-eyed as the scepter drooped towards the ground. "No, you can't, can you."

"Such _pretty_ wings... I _want_ them. You..." There was a pause, and the Lightwarden leaned back, confused. "You... Don't owe me. Give as is given. Take as is taken. All accounts settled." 

"Aye, such is the way of the fae folk. You will only take, and so I give you also this curse. You will _never_, find your happiness. You will _never_ sate your hunger. You will forever be alone, my Precious Sapling, and not even the Ardor of the Ascians will bring you home."

"... Oh well. I _want_. And you... You are ever so _tasty_..." 

Feo ul closed their eyes as the wings were torn from their back. Outclassed, too slow to do more than fall as a pair of cruel, terrible, _horrible_ black blades tore through them and rent them from shoulder to hip. Aether exploded outwards, and as the curse settled into the very soul of the Lightwarden, Feo Ul smiled and knew no more.

* * *

Emet-Selch stared at the Lightwarden as she drifted. All attempts to portal her had resulted in her light burning it away and devouring the aether that formed it before it so much as pulled her one way or another. He couldn't even get close enough to talk to her, her radiance keeping him at bay. She had, eventually, devoured most of the Star itself before Elidibus had finished triggering the Calamity. 

Sometimes, she sang, the melody faint at the distance he was forced to keep. The four items of the Fae made her King and giving her a proper sort of immortality, so over the long years as he watched over her he was able to track the slow descent into madness. Loneliness devoured her, even as she devoured herself and woke, restored by her Echo.

Sometimes, he tried to sing back, but he doubted she heard him. 

And so, instead, he watched. He waited. And eventually, like a moth drawn to the flame, he went to her. 

His last thoughts were _it's over, it's finally over._

She curled in on herself, chewing away at her arm as she finished her feast, simply lamenting her hunger and the feeling of nameless loss that coiled through her. 


	2. Chapter 2

"What the fuck." She leaned forward, squinting at the screen as her jaw hung slightly open. It was... It was _baffling_ is what it was. It was ridiculous. Impossible. Unthinkable. Beyond _comprehension_, and yet... The words were there. Supportive, somehow wholesome, definitely thirsty. They... They _liked_ it? The Writer shook her head. 

No, there must have been another explanation. Another reason. Maybe there was something in the water and everyone had gained temporary insanity to match her own. It would certainly explain the way her house was suddenly full of Ascians that were rapidly taking on both form and substance. Or, possibly, potentially, it was the exhaustion. 

Because oh, was she ever _tired_...

"_You__?_ Tired? -Please-." She didn't have to turn to feel the way eyes were being rolled behind her, and for all that he simply _did not exist_ she entertained the notion that he was lounging on the bed. Idly propped up on an elbow, rolled onto his side, he idly studied the trinket he held in his hand. "You keep interrupting my _sleep_."

"You _like_ that though. It's usually for sex, now innit."

"Usually? No. More often than not 'tis some catastrophic horror _you_ inflicted. Look at poor Elidibus. You made him _literally_ a snake."

"He doesn't mind. Do you?" She must have_ truly_ been mad, to continue to entertain the notion that the room had anyone other than simply herself within it. A white-robed Ascian heaved a sigh from where he was posted by the window, watching the rain in the light of the streetlamp. 

"Hardly anything I can do about it, Writer. You have promised me a good end, however." 

"Eventually. Sometime after... This." A vague gesture towards the laptop, the laundry basket and the small army of mugs across her desk summed up a myriad of things that she didn't really want to bring attention to, and yet couldn't help but focus on. They were symbolic of _so_ many things, after all...

"Here's a thought. _Stop sharing my wife with people_." 

"We don't even know if she's actually your wife!" Hands flicking up to idly wave, the Writer rolled her shoulders and realized she had started curling again like some sort of goblin and worked to straighten her posture. 

"_We_ don't need to. _You_ made her so, in this instance at least." 

"At least she didn't make _you_ a dragon. She can't even get how I speak right. Countless hours running through Praetorium and not a single word listened to."

"Now that's not true at all. You sound quite sinister in german." The Writer muttered to herself, hunching habitually and otherwise ignoring the Lahabrea in the room. "It's much better than your english voice."

"Oh? Repeat back to me _one thing_ I said during that roulette, without searching for it first." Black robed arms were folded, and she didn't need to turn around to look at where the Speaker wasn't to feel the glare. A nervous cough and two fingers were poked together before she shrugged. 

"Bah! I've got the _meat_ of it. Hydaelyn bad, blah blah blah, balance upsetti spaghetti, _ultima waffe_, kill me and you kill Thancred..." A pause, and she lifted her head. "Oh! 'Nothing more than is necessary to'... Uhh... Something something 'my god'. There. There's a lot of braying laughter too." 

"I should kill you."

"Don't threaten me with a good time. You got stuck with the short end of the stick because... Well, because you were made to be unlikable." 

"You made me worse than him!" A clawed hand was cast over to gesture to where Elidibus tilted his head slightly before the Speaker continued. "You made me a horrible slimeball of a person that bordered on manipulative, almost _rapey_ tactics!" 

"Is 'rapey' even a word? A real, actual word?" Emet-Selch quirked a brow from where he had rolled onto his back and stretched out, feet dangling off the edge of the bed. "Really, for a so-called 'Speaker' your syntax is _truly_ deplorable."

"Yeeeah... Sorry 'bout that." A sheepish smile was aimed at the screen, before the Writer cleared her throat. "Someone had to be the asshole, and I happen to actually _like_ the Emissary so... yay you got brought back to life at all?"

"I would be flattered, but someone seems to have made it so that I look as though I'm smiling to cover internal screaming nigh constantly." 

"Well, I mean you _are_ so...Sorry? I guess? Least you didn't get it as bad as La-hee-brayer." The Writer waggled her eyebrows at the screen, ignoring the disgusted sound that was coupled with how the Speaker folded his arms. 

"I've become a _meme_. You should have left me _dead._"

"Too bad. You're actually sort've important. Remember the dragon? Yeah. Remember the other dragon? Yeah. That too. And Urianger's Hythlodaeus skillset. And, y'know, the riddle that I _yeetus deletus'd_." Fingers clicked against the keyboard, idly tapping letters without enough force to type them before the Writer resumed. "There was something else too, wasn't there." 

"A _numbe__r_ of things, Writer. At least you finally managed to muster up the courage to inform people of the initial drop that caused the ripple effect." The Architect huffed idly, swinging his feet before sighing. "_Three __hundred thousand words_,and you would think she would _believe_ them when they said they like her writing. Tisk tisk..."

"If they didn't like it, you would have lost them by now. Did you consider it from that angle?" Elidibus shifted to look back out the window, eyes idly tracing the trails the rain drops made on the shingles under the second story window. 

"I... Look. _Listen._ It's-"

"Hear, feel, think, by that boy Alphinaud's Twelve, you're beginning to sound like _Hydaelyn_." Pale gold eyes rolled, and the Writer grumbled sourly as she pouted and hunched further. "And fix your posture!"

"_You're_ one to talk, mister gains three inches when they stand up properly. Ugh."

"What is it they say nowadays? Don't let your dreams be memes?" Lahabrea smirked as he leaned against the back of her chair, eyes scanning the open work in front of her. "Skill set has a space between the two words."

"I- You-. First off, _fuck you_. Second off, I'll fix it in post-"

"No you won't." Emet-Selch smiled thinly, shaking his head as he glanced back to the others in the room. "You always say you will, and never do."

"Stuff it, Angel of truth. That was originally Elidibus' line and then I thought it'd be more ironic coming from you who can't lie." Huffing, the Writer waved a hand to try and dispel the suggestion of the Speaker that still lingered and loomed behind her. 

"Look, Writer, it even has a little red line beneath it. It _tells_ you when it's wrong." 

"The fact of the matter is that you have trouble accepting that you might, for once in your life, have a talent." Elidibus, the voice of reason, cut her to the quick with the gentlest of words, and the Writer grimaced as if she had swallowed something bitter. Shifting away from the window, the Emissary gestured to the secondary tabs, to the chat from which a number of voices silently clamored, their words a dance of flickering white on dark grey. "Now you're just stalling, Writer. They think you have the barest chance of making it. So, the question is, why do you do everything to avoid trying?"

"She knows the answer to that one. They all do. They've called her on it, she called herself on it, and now we're calling her on it too." Emet-Selch huffed from the bed, idly stealing one of the pillows to tuck under his head and get comfortable. "Fear. 'Tis a powerful shackle."

"I don't have to take this from you."

"Then delete this." The Speaker sounded smug in her mind as he waved a hand at the laptop. "Delete it all. You _like_ that they notice you. One tiny voice, crying out in the void. But being noticed makes you _volunerable_. It gives you substance, and substance can be _hurt_. Volunerable doesn't have a u in it there, by the way. And change the o to a u."

"Fuck you, Bythos." 

"It's okay, you know. To be afraid." Elidibus laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, and she could feel the slight, gentle smile from him. "To have hopes, to have dreams. When you struggle with something, you write. When you are sad, or angry, or happy, you write. Writing is an intrinsic part of you. For all that you try and write for the sake of writing, ignoring word count and what people might say, their praise is addictive. Yes, you might worry that only the insane might try and reach for something greater than they are but... Well..."

"You -are- the one essentially typing about three figments of your imagination hanging out in your bedroom. And I even have all of my _clothes_ on. If that isn't insanity, Writer, then truly your denial knows no bounds." The Architect waved lazily from the bed, words laced with a smirk as she rolled her eyes. 

"But what... What if I _fail_. What if I write something so horrible that they _hate_ it, hate me, dox and disappear? What if I _do_ follow their advice, and actually... _Try_. And people pay for it, and demand refunds, and then word spreads and _everyone_ practically spits on it. Book burning ex point oh. Or worse, what if... What if I try, I put _effort_ into it, and still nobody sees it?" 

"That's what you fear the most, isn't it." Lahabrea sighed, shaking his head. "You think any public speaker doesn't get up on that stage and wonder if today is the day they eat a rotten tomato against their will?" 

"Come now, Speaker, that method won't work. We tried that route already, as did they." Elidibus patted the air gently, before leaning down to watch as the Writer corrected 'leanig' to 'leaning'. "An entire group of hard-working, dedicated support-style people cannot drown out the voice that rings out from inside your own mind. For all that they can reassure and praise you, that will only cover the wound that has lingered within your psyche. It will never be enough, and you will hate yourself for seeking their praise because you _need_ it, but it cannot fill the void. Trial and error, hard work, these are concepts to you that when you reach for you find your hand shakes. Because what is the _point_, if it doesn't work." 

"Elidibus-"

"Hush, Writer. Let the figment of a concept of a man reassure you." The Speaker re-folded his arms (or were they folded the entire time?) and nodded towards the Emissary. 

"That, is the scar that you bear. You failed, rapidly and repeatedly during such a horrible time that it convinced you that nothing you did would ever be good enough, and you never learned how to learn as a result. As such, there must always be something _wrong_ with whatever you do. Fortunately, you already started mitigating this line of thought by shifting it so that, instead, you always strive to write better. You look at the works of those you perceive as above you, and you itch to claw your way to those heights. Not because 'if they can do it, so can you', but because you _want_ to write like them. You want people to read what you write, and do so again. And again. You want them to spread it to others, because the only part of you left after your soul was _scoured_ by how you were constantly measured against others and found wanting is the one topic they could not touch." Elidibus patted her shoulder gently, sighing as she typed through the tears. "They could not take your stories from you. They could not take the concepts that you loved, the Thief, the Archmage, the Swordsman... These things live on within you. They survive, because you hoard them tight to your chest and refuse to let go like a child with a toy. This thing, is not a _bad_ thing. The thoughts you had as a child, the stories you spoke out into the air, they are part of you. They will always _be_ part of you. We Ascians will come and go, but look at how your Thief is much beloved."

A claw-laden, gloved hand was gestured towards the laptop. "They _love_ Priscilla. They love you. Don't you think... that you owe it to them to at least try? You shared your stories with your brother from another mother and your sister from another mister. You wrote a world into existence, and you spun your stories for those who you invite to your house on a regular basis. You have every tool you could possibly require. A hundred thousand words? No. Start with fifty thousand, and go from there. Re-read volume one of whatever series you wish, refresh yourself on how they set the stage, and then dance your players across it. Tell them your stories, Writer. You, who once spoke them to the empty air. If you can tell them to no one, why not tell _them__?_"

"Fear, Elidibus. She cannot do this thing because of _fear_, although you must have been close with _something_ you said. What was it, something about oweing them? Drop the 'e' in owing, Writer. There you go." Emet-Selch heaved a sigh before hauling himself up from the bed and ambling over to lean against the back of the chair as Lahabrea stepped aside. "Who cares if they might seem childish? That such a thing might be embarrassing? You? A fair thought. However, have you considered simply doing it _anyways_? And no, I don't know if the question mark should be italicized either, although I very likely should. You want to write, ergo, you should. 'Tis as simple as that, is it not?"

"But... I don't have a _plot_. An end game. All I've got are countless tiny beginnings."

"So? You didn't have a plot for Joker and Thief either. Just a vague concept of 'Enough death, I want _life_ for once'." The Speaker gestured to the screen, shaking his head. "If you can write more than fifty words of you _arguing_ with yourself, then you can write anything." 

"A story of countless tiny beginnings is also a story in and of itself, Writer. You even tried that concept once. You have hoarded every word you have ever written into the snippets and tiny secret things." Elidibus turned back towards the window, simply because everyone had stood still for too long and some movement might symbolize and prompt momentum and motivation. "Hundreds of pages of words in documents."

"... I'll think about it."

"No you won't." Emet-Selch reached out to ruffle her hair, drawing a narrow-eyed glare from the Writer as she hunched and stared back at the space he didn't exist in. "You'll _do_ it, because you've become right properly irritated at your own perceived incompetence. You have _done_ this. You can _do_ this. You simply needs must look at what you have already done to prove it. You have all the cards, all the keys to the doors." 

The Writer grumbled, and looked back at the screen. 

"Shit. I did this in Joker and Thief, didn't I."

"Copy and paste, Writer." Lahabrea smirked at her, and she rolled her eyes and complied. "It's a wonderful thing."


	3. Good End (Elidibus & Eschaton)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A pre-sundering good end AU for Elidibus and Eschaton.  
For Wistala

To think, that a single moment of hesitation had been all that it took to change the course of a man's fate.

Ophiuchus, bearing the white mask and grey robes common to all Amaurotine citizens, had always been very good at sneaking around. It was not exactly _be__fitting_ of a person of his stature, but as his co-workers were fond of telling him all work and no play made Elidibus a dull boy. And _oh,_ if they only _knew_ how he liked to play...

Addictive substances were no longer something he allowed himself. To do so would be to crack the near-perfect mask he had learned from his mentor, and he valued their input too highly to do otherwise. But that wasn't to say he couldn't work hard, get everything done (or at least everything _important_, there was always more work to do after all) and then vanish. It was as simple as transfiguring his robes and mask and turning out the lights. A thought sent him through the connecting shadows until he stepped out on some discreet platform and thought about ways to tweak his spell work. He usually came out alone, but once...

Ophiuchus stepped out of a patch of shadows, and practically lept out of his skin at the startled shriek that came from directly beside him. It was only long years of training that had him simply freezing in place with Polite Smile Number One across his face and slowly turning his head to peer at the younger Amaurotine beside him. She had plastered herself against the wall of the alley he had materialized in, and stared wide-eyed through the mask as she slowly calmed down.

"How... Where did you _come_ from!?"

The Emissary cleared his throat quietly, before inclining his head and simply turning back to face the shadows once more. He would find another alley, and they wouldn't be able to follow him. Everything would be _fine_.

It was a divergent point he was unaware of, a moment where the world held it's breath. Here, he took a step forward, there, he did too. His fate was set, he took another step...

No. He _hesitated_. Infinite universes, all stemming from the ability to choose, and as the shadow of the future chased the one that chose to flee...

Ophiuchus stopped and turned around. The Amaurotine was watching him curiously, and cleared her throat as he let Polite Smile Number One fade somewhat into Soft Smile Number Six. Tilting his head, he studied her for a moment and then hummed quietly.

"Far and away. What of yourself, young miss? What brings you to the lower levels of Amaurot?"

“That’s… A non-answer. My feet, to meet you at the level you have chosen to portray yourself.” She drew herself up properly, folding her arms and narrowing her eyes at him. Ophiuchus let his Soft Smile Number Six shift into something more honest, dipping into a polite bow as he did.

“We are two people accidentally meeting in the same dark alley that is most often used for sneaking about. If anyone expects honest answers to questions under such circumstances, truly they are a fool.”

“Well said. I suppose there is little point to asking a masked man who he is, so instead I think I will instead ask you how you stepped out of a two dimensional patch of shadow.”

“As that was not technically phrased as a question, I am afraid that I am well within my rights to avoid answering such. You are correct, however, in that there is little point to asking who I am. After all, I highly doubt that you would answer that question yourself.” His more honest smile grew, matched by the grin on the other’s face.

“You _are_ good, I’ll give you that.” The admission came with an impressed bob of the female’s face, and she folded her hands behind her back. “Do you like riddles?”

“Not my greatest strength, admittedly.” Ophiuchus politely inclined his head, smiling sheepishly at this point. “But in the interest of meeting an unusual individual, I am willing to make an attempt.”

“Alright. Three blocks south and three blocks west, set on stone below the rest. Herein lies thy greatest test, for starting soon is truly best.” She pointed north east, and sighed. “That was my last clue, three north and three east from here.”

“A set of directions. Underneath this point would be the sewers, which are off limits to any that do not work for the EngiCorps.”

“Shame that my prize lies out of my reach then. If only I had the help of someone who could de-materialize and re-materialize…” The mystery woman eyed him, before shifting to elbow him gently. “What say you, Stranger? Or are you so cowed by the yoke of the law that a little bit of mischief is beyond your reach.”

The disguised Emissary eyed her for a moment, before letting a playful smile cross his features. A polite bow was offered, along with an outstretched hand and she took it with an almost vicious grin before he kissed the air over her knuckles and then pulled them both into the lightless darkness.

* * *

They stepped out together, and he focused his senses to taste the air and feel the vibrations of the room through the thin soles of his boots. A lack of illumination had yet to stop him, with the mild version of tremmorsense that he had cultivated with his secondary form. A grimace crossed his face as he inadvertently realized that yes, this was indeed the sewers, which entailed the air tasting like quiet a number of things he did not want in his mouth. He thought to conjure a light for his unusual companion before turning his face and realizing there were faintly glowing threads of silver light that lined her eyes. Like luminescent steel wrapping cerulean, and the way they followed him as he leaned one way and then the other convinced him she would have no trouble seeing without his efforts.

“Curious. A personal adjustment?”

“Something like that. Can you see? I could not do this thing for you, but I could lead you if you needed.”

Elidibus shook his head, smiling faintly before gesturing to the walls around him. “No need. I can manage well enough on my own. Your prize should be around here somewhere, should it not?”

The mystery woman oh’d softly, perking up and turning away to start making her way along the inside of the sewer. She didn’t seem to care about stepping in the raw sewage, splatting her way through the tunnel and feeling about the wall. Ophiuchus stepped rather more carefully, avoiding the worst of it and frowning as he realized she had stopped moving already. A quiet scrabbling sound came before she found the edge of whatever she was working on, and then with a tug peeled a line of tape off the wall to claim whatever it was that she had pulled free. Two bioluminescent orbs were turned back towards him before she splatted closer and reached to tug on his sleeve.

“Got it. Let’s go somewhere with some light so I can read what it says.”

A quick snag of her wrist and tug had them both stepping out into the alley they had first met in, and he grimaced as he gestured and cleaned his robes. A second flick of his wrist as he let go of her cleaned hers as well, and the disguised Emissary frowned as he realized she had recovered an envelope in a plastic bag. Working her way through both layers to get to the scrap of paper within, he was surprised to find a familiar looking ticket now lingered in her grasp.

Concerto Grande. It was for _his_ performance, in three days. A quick glance memorized the seat number, and he glanced away as she frowned and looked up at him.

“Hmm. Well, you did help. It would be rude of me not to offer this as a reward.”

“No, but thank you. I dislike concerts.” A misdirected truth, though he managed a sheepish smile and looked back at her. “As interesting as this has been, I apologize. I am needed elsewhere.”

“Wait-”

He stepped back with a bow into the darkness, and fled.

* * *

Dressed in his impeccable white robes, Elidibus gave the audience a polite bow before turning and moving to sit down at the piano. The golden claws were carefully removed and set to the side, before he bowed his head over the keys and began to play. The venue was packed, and he had discreetly glanced at the seat he knew she should have been in.

She was not. He tried not to let his disappointment reflect in his music, and it was only a full two songs later that he glanced back to the crowd that he noted a figure working their way through the crowd to settle into her seat. Hands keeping busy as he smoothly moved on to the next song, he watched out of the corner of his eye as the people on either side of her fussed with her robes and discreetly cleaned them with a minor spell.

A soft smile curled the corners of his lips upwards, and he continued to play. Each series of notes rolled out smoothly one after another, rising and falling as the music dipped and crested, drawing the audience in. Absently, he noted that they were rather more invested in it now than the had been at the start, and mentally cursed himself for letting the appearance or absence of someone he didn’t even know have such an effect on his craft. It would not _do_, he thought to himself, even as he subtly glanced and caught the way she seemed to be almost boredly lounging in her chair.

It wasn’t fair.

He ended his song and pushed himself to his feet. Performance far from over, the Emissary pushed the lid of the piano up and then moved to one of the stands to pull a candle from it. A brief puff of air blew it out, and he returned to his seat as he set it down near where his sheet music waited for him. Murmurs shifted through the crowd before he stretched his fingers and neatly stacked his sheet music beside the candle, closed his eyes, and began to play.

It was slow at first. A carefully picked out complex series of notes that spread his hands across the ivory keys in front of him. As each set of memorized bars passed, he moved faster. Ten notes played in the space of ten seconds became twenty. Twenty in ten seconds became forty. Forty became sixty. The sound twisted melodically through the air as the ten thousand notes of his unfinished masterpiece of his daily practice filled the stunned, silent room. Three separate harmonies danced and wove together, madly dashing to and fro before the first one ended, leaving two. Two slowed and curled across the audience, until one strangled the other and emerged victorious and continued on alone.

That one, lonely cadence died, and left the room silent save for the quiet gasps for air from the stunned audience. Ophiuchus stood up, collected the candle and leaned in to light it off of the still hot strings before setting it back down so that the audience could see it, and then sat himself down and gently smoothed his fingers across the keys once more. For all that he felt as though he had just run a mile in a moment, for all that he was now sweating under his robes, he let Polite Smile Number Three settle into place across his face and began another of the pieces that had been advertised for the night and began to play once more.

He was pleased to note that his mystery woman had sat up straight in her chair, and paid proper attention to the rest of the performance.

* * *

“What _was_ that?”

Elidibus paused by the doors to the main hall where most of his patrons had gathered after the show. They were cracked open, and he could hear snippits of conversation from those that lingered within. He took the opportunity to eavesdrop as he made sure his appearance was as pristine as ever.

“I asked around. It seems nobody has ever heard him play that piece before. Without sheetmusic, no less! I wonder if it was an epic ballad at some time! It certainly stirred up a frenzy.”

“Well can you blame him? If he played that at all of his concerts, he might break his poor fingers. It certainly stirred everyone up, I will say.”

“I could almost see it in my mind’s eye. A war of beasts, bringing about the worlds end. A goddess, descending from the sky bearing a gift-”

“What absolute _trite_. It was clearly about a Hero and a Prisoner, both in love with the same woman-”

The Emissary shook his head slowly, reaching for the door before pausing as he caught the sensation of footsteps rushing towards him. Turning, Elidibus quirked a brow behind his mask as he caught sight of the mystery woman sliding to a stop beside him. Hands on her knees, she took a moment to catch her breath before drawing herself up.

“Don’t like concerts? You _don’t like concerts_?” She threw her arms into the air. “You could have told me! I thought I’d offended you-!”

“I thought your syntax was stiff, apprentice of Eschaton. So good of you, to finally speak freely.” He offered her a polite bow, before coming up short as she jabbed a finger in his face. “How rude.”

“This means _war_, Emissary! Just you _wait_!”

The mystery woman spun in pace and booked it down the hallway to the window, clambering up and out as the door he stood in front of opened, drawing his attention.

“My word, Elidibus I thought I heard something. Is everything alright?”

“Of course, Deudalaphon. Nothing amiss at all.”

There was an honest smile hiding beneath Polite Smile Number Three, and he inclined his head as he stepped into the room to mingle as he kept the smug feeling within his chest from showing in the slightest.

* * *

It was a friendly back and forth that took them. Periodically, he would sneak out and inevitably sought her out. Sometimes she was alone, others she had friends. He stayed away during those latter times, not wishing to expose himself accidentally, but the former ones…

It took her five decades to finally ferret out where he actually lived. He made her work for it, and he earned in return hints and tips about her general likes and dislikes. They didn’t always match his own, but where they did they had a friendly rivalry when it came to reading and understanding the material so that they could banter back and forth about it. He learned she was a surprisingly musical individual, though couldn’t name any composers save for himself.

She had been Eschaton for barely a decade the first time she broke into his apartment. She had brought with her some fruity brandies, ‘forced’ him to drink (though really, he simply made her work for it with their usual back and forth) and eventually passed out on his couch. They had both woken with hangovers that only one of them successfully hid during the afternoon meeting, and two days later she tracked him down to try and get him to admit how he had managed to do so.

His answer of ‘control’ hadn’t helped her. Control was something she simultaneously excelled and utterly failed at. When something held her focus she could master herself better than he could, but largely… Well, she simply didn’t. When asked why, she had shrugged and said that it simply didn’t interest her to do so.

He had privately admitted to himself that he fancied her a decade later, begrudgingly and only because he found himself idly composing small momentary pieces of music for her to hum or whistle. He never played those pieces, and though he had only ever caught her at his concert the once he did note that she hummed parts of the other pieces he played. She either snuck in and hid, or listened to the recordings.

Knowing her as well as he did, he felt confident that presuming the former was more correct. His Enforcers didn’t _like_ it, and liked it less when none of them could find any signs that she had. He simply kept his more honest smiles to himself and wondered at how she did it.

He had thought that perhaps he would be able to keep his silly little crush to himself until he stepped out of his favourite club in Carrow and accidentally bumped into someone on their way in. A polite, demure apology had frozen on his lips as he stared at the white mask that frame steel wrapped blue eyes. Neither of them spoke or moved for a long moment, until another customer gave her a rough shove and barked out a complaint about holding up the line.

“Go on in then.” She stepped aside, waving a hand at the scowling figure that entered the club and then nodded towards one of the benches that lined the sidewalk. “I… I can explain, if you want to sit down for a little bit.”

“I would be delighted to.”

Eschaton cleared her throat quietly before making her way over and sitting down, folding her hands in her lap as the Emissary settled down next to her.

“So-”

“I didn’t-”

Elidibus laughed quietly as they both started speaking at the same time, looking away as she covered her mouth with one hand, gesturing to him with the other.

“After you, Esteemed Emissary, sorry.”

“No, please. I insist.”

“I… They do free meals with a monthly subscription, which works out to cheaper than actually going out and buying food.” He could hear the sheepish smile in her voice, and turned slightly to nod at her as she avoided meeting his eye and continued. “I eat… A lot. I need to, unfortunately. But everyone here is nice and kind and they seem to take care of each other before during and after, so if nothing else it has a pleasant air to it.”

“I suppose it would be too late to also claim the meals as my reason for being here.”

“Considering they offer that membership to anyone that asks for it, I could be persuaded to believe it. You don’t have crumbs on you or any signs that you’ve eaten recently, however, which makes it more difficult.” She grimaced slightly, eyeing him. “You also smell like beer. Have you been drinking?”

“Infrequently. It is polite to have one or two while here. Carrow is the city of a thousand pleasures, after all.” The honest admittance rolled easily off his tongue, and he shook his head slightly. “While I may refrain from indulging, I thought perhaps a subtle vacation in order.”

“Considering what goes on in that club I’m not entirely certain I want to contemplate what, exactly, you indulge in.” Eschaton’s voice had taken on a teasing tone, and he coughed politely and looked away to try and hide the way Easy Smile Number Four was losing out against a more honest rueful grin.

“Nothing too terrible, although I will admit that I do have my…vices.” Expression firmly under control, the Emissary looked back to her and quirked a brow. “But you said you came here to eat. Would you care for some company?”

“Elidibus!” The Botanist tucked a hand against her chest, gasping in mock indignity. “Such an improper thing! We’re co-workers, with nothing more than a professional, working relationship. I’m supposed to be the improper one, not you.”

One leather-clad shoulder shifted upwards in a shrug as he pushed himself to his feet and offered out a hand to her. Face turned to partially hide his expression in the white fur trim along the edge of his open coat, the Emissary batted his lashes at her and hummed quietly.

“Elidibus is on vacation, Miss ‘Percy’.”

She took his hand, quirking a brow behind her mask as she eyed him up and down. “I’d thought you had forgotten about that. Who then stands before me, wearing leather pants that look sinfully tight?”

“Ophiuchus.” His name, so oft unused that it almost felt foriegn in his ears, was offered along with a bow, and as he straightened he was delighted to see that she was grinning.

“You know, it took me almost a century to get your name out of you, Stranger. I think that’s a record of some kind. Come then, marvel at how much food I can eat. Let’s see if this makes or breaks our friendship.”

* * *

They left the wee hours of the morning together. She had admitted to being nervous and eating less than she usually did, but he simply smiled politely and let himself enjoy her company and assuaged her fears as best he could. He walked her to the hotel she was staying at, and took her hand to bow and press a kiss against the backs of her knuckles when she turned to face him at the door to her room.

“Where are you staying, by the way? I’ll be here for a few days.” She was blushing because of the little bit of brandy she had ended the night with, she told herself, reclaiming her hand and clearing her throat as Ophiuchus straightened.

“Nowhere. I intend to return to my apartment once I step into the stairwell.” He let go of her hand a little more reluctantly than he would have liked, mentally scolding himself and already regretting the lack of sleep that his usual early start to the average work day would leave him with. The Emissary folded his hands behind his back, partially turning to go even as he inclined his head in a polite farewell. “Rest well, Persephone.”

“You can make that trip in one go? That’s a good three hour flight.” Brows furrowing behind her mask, Eschaton eyed him up and down and tilted her head. “You’re somewhat drunk. It’s late. There is a second bed in my rooms here that my luggage is using and nothing else. Why don’t you stay?”

A thousand and one possibilities bloomed behind his eyes. Secret, indulgent fantasies and suppressed wants played out in rapid succession, and he felt his face growing hot underneath the plain white mask he wore. Coughing politely, he turned somewhat further towards the door at the end of the hall and cleared his throat.

“How improper, Eschaton. I am your senior as well as a co-worker…” The words died in his throat, and he smiled faintly as she snorted in exasperation.

“Two separate beds, Ophi. It’s not as if we’re sharing one. I’ve slept on your couch a number of times before, it’s only fair and right that I try to repay this debt. How could it be imprope-mh!?” She stared, wide-eyed as he cut her off with a kiss, one hand cupping the side of her face before he stepped back and was swallowed by his own shadow, leaving her staring blankly through the space he had once stood.

* * *

The next Convocation meeting was as boring as they always were. He could feel her scrutiny, but didn’t let it phase him in the slightest. Smoothly moving from conversation topic to conversation topic, it ended and he excused himself from the room first. Instead of taking the stairwell as he usually did, he stepped into the elevator with the thought that it would take him to the ground floor faster.

The door had almost shut before a hand flashed through and pushed it open enough for her to wiggle her way in, and it closed behind her. One floor, two floors, three floors passed uneventfully as he stood placid and peaceful under the weight of her stare until she finally jabbed a hand out to hit a button and halt the lift between floors. She folded her arms, and he slowly turned his head to quirk a brow at her.

“Botanist.”

“Emissary. You’re avoiding me.”

“To avoid you, I would have had to have been aware of the exact moment you returned to the city.” A polite bow of his head was offered to her, and he covered a smirk at her snort with Polite Smile Number Seven.

“You always take the stairs, and here I am having to backtrack and chase you into the elevator.”

“You would have jumped through the center of the stairwell and beaten me down-”

“So you _are_ avoiding me.”

Elidibus allowed himself a soft sigh, and slowly shook his head. “You are preventing others from utilizing the elevator, Eschaton. This is rude, improper and also cruel.”

“Fine. I’m going to where _it_ happened, and if I don’t see you there by midnight I’m coming back and we’re having this conversation in the _Convocation Hall_.” The Botanist folded her arms, lifting her chin and narrowing her eyes.

“Is that a threat?”

“In a word? Yes.”

She leaned forward and hit the button for the elevator, and they rode it the rest of the way down to the ground floor in silence.

* * *

It was eleven fifty six, and Ophiuchus stared at the ceiling as he lay atop his bed sheets. He had, unsuccessfully, debated with himself as to whether or not the Botanist would make good on her threat. Everything he knew about her pointed to the fact that yes, yes she would.

A grimace crossed his features, and he sighed before gesturing and altering his clothes. A second motion had him sinking into the darkness of the room stepping out of the shadows at the base of a stairwell. A brief jaunt up had him ambling along the hallway he had left her in, and a slow breath had him gathering his nerves. He took two steps, before reaching up to knock at the door-

It swung open before his knuckles graced the wood, and a hand reached out to snag him by the fur collar and haul him inside. Stifling his instinctive urge to recoil and counter, he glanced back as the Botanist closed the door behind him and then moved past to sit on the edge of one of the beds. She patted the sheets beside her, and he obligingly moved to sit down.

“… It’s a lie. You need to understand this.”

Well. Not what he had been expecting. Elidibus tilted his head and then looked towards the mirror on the dresser, studying their reflections. She was staring at her hands as she clasped them in her lap, and when he opened his mouth to speak she shook her head.

“Eschaton’s have a passive Secret. It was always meant to encourage pack tactics and acceptance as the Alpha, but by the time it was realized that it worked on people, it was too late. It was already part of the title. Whatever you feel for me, it’s a lie.” Her voice was quiet, almost swallowed by the silence in the room, and drew a frown from the Emissary. “With genetically incompatible species, it prompts unquestioning loyalty. With genetically compatible individuals… it elicits _fondness _of a very specific kind.”

“Percy-”

“Ophiuchus, you’re not _listening_.” Her head came up, bitterness overwhelming her tone before she hunched her shoulders and looked away. “… You have long been my friend. I owe it to you to ensure you are aware of the truth of the situation. It builds over time, until people make _mistakes_…”

“I see. Any attempts to convince you otherwise would thusly fall under the umbrella of ‘mistakes’, as I am clearly not acting under my own free will.” Ophiuchus let a small, honest smile settle across his face as he turned his head to watch her. “How long does it take for such a thing to build and hit what might be considered critical mass?“

“A few years. It wears off after an equal amount of time, provided I leave before the completion of a decade. Otherwise recovery accrues a diminishing return effect. Where one year away would lessen one year’s worth of exposure to the secret, after a decade it would take a year and a half for each year that had passed. Two and a half for each year beyond the decade and a half point, and so on and so forth until it takes far too long.” The Botanist relaxed slightly, thankful that he seemed to be understanding before tensing as he chuckled softly. She glanced over, scowling as he removed his mask.

“Before you were Eschaton, at the concert, my nameless song was for you. The culmination of my life’s work, before you gained any of the Secrets of your station, given freely because I wished to entertain you. I have only ever played it once, and it seemed barely enough to get you to sit on the edge of your seat. You have broken into my apartment countless times, pre and post ascension to your seat, and before that you enticed me to escape my office and fall behind in my work. Persephone, I have felt such things for you far longer than you have held the capacity to passively elicit such things against my will.”

“Ophi, that’s-”

“Do you truly hate yourself so, that you would think yourself so unlovable? Or is it pride, believing yourself above such base things.” He turned to face her properly, and she narrowed her eyes as he offered her Gentle Smile Number Three. “I did nothing because it would be improper, both due to the handful of centuries I have on you and due to the nature of our work together as Convocation members.”

“Then why did you kiss me.”

“It was a day of indulgence, Eschaton. Simply a stolen moment. If such causes you to feel uncomfortable, it shall never happen again.” Gentle Smile Number Three shifted to Polite Smile Number One, and the Emissary looked towards the mirror once more. Such wonderful craftsmanship had gone into the frame. A lovely scrolling floral pattern. It matched the wallpaper in places, perhaps intentionally.

“… That sounds an awful lot like you intended to do so again at some point.”

“Elidibus, as the Emissary, is bound and shackled by his duty. He must be perfect. He must be inscrutable.” Ophiuchus studied himself in the mirror, before pointing towards it. His reflection stood and bowed, warping before straightening, resplendent in a set of white robes and a red mask. “He must be above base desires and impropriety. He must carry himself with poise and grace. These are what our white robes signify. However, beneath the mask of the Emissary lives and breaths Ophiuchus of the Forked Tongue.”

The illusion across the surface of the mirror dissipated, and he slowly lowered his hand with a soft, mournful sigh. “A man of many vices, of _indulgence_. My title is not who _I_ am. One day, I will retire. I intend to, before the millennia is out. But for all that I must patiently bide my time… Surely no one can withstand the slow march of the centuries as purely work-oriented individuals.”

“Deflection and diversion. ‘Forked Tongue’ though? Really?”

“Naturally. ‘Forked Tongue’ was a moniker from before my Mentor found me. I had a reputation for twisting conversations, coiling them around people and smothering their complaints like prey within the coils of a snake.” Shaking his head, he let his gaze wander back to her, red eyes narrowing playfully. “You are gorgeous. You are witty. You are mischievous. You are… _Breathtaking, _and brave. You struck me as such even as you fled through a window, after my concert.”

Eschaton frowned, before slowly shaking her head. “… Still, that would have faded if not for my Secret. You… Would have been fine. You would have been _free_.”

“Even in bondage can individuals find freedom.”

Steel-wrapped blue eyes lifted to narrow at him, taking in his innocuous Innocent Smile Number Five. “… Puss-’N-Boots _is_ that kind of club, now isn’t it.”

“I hear they close at three, and have the most wonderful bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwiches. Would you care to join me?”

She snorted, before shaking her head and trying to fight the grin that was curling the corners of her lips upwards. “You smooth _snake_.”

Ophiuchus offered one of his hands out, letting an honest smile cross his features. She eyed it, eyed him, and then heaved a sigh before she took it. 

“I _suppose_ I might be a bit peckish after all.”

* * *

Hours and many, many explored options later, and Ophiuchus found himself roused from slumber by the sharp rays of the sun slanting in through the window. A reflexive curl was halted by tension on his wrists and the clink of metal on metal, and he squinted back towards the headboard to frown at how he was handcuffed to it. He certainly didn’t remember the _second_ set. She had surprised him in a bid for dominance, and for all that he was the more experienced of the two…

Well. She was surprisingly stronger than him, and had a _way_ with the riding crop that sat innocently on the bed beside him. A most _enthusiastic_ learner. He wondered just how often she had frequented his favourite club before their chance encounter.

It didn’t matter. All that mattered now was the promises they had breathed into each other’s skin, sealed with searing kisses that had sucked bruises into necks. He was sore, and the memories of their _adventure_ was stirring attention in his loins that he reluctantly put out of his mind as he looked around for a key.

There wasn’t one.

Ophiuchus smiled slightly, wondering why he wasn’t surprised.


	4. Good End (Elidibus & Eschaton pt 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eschaton/Elidibus slice of life with a little bit of warmth. I re-wrote this a number of times and finally felt like this one might work.  
For Kei

Ophiuchus woke slowly, oddly comfortable for all that he quickly came to realize he was sprawled out across the floor. Surprisingly fully clothed, and when he turned his head to check where he might have been both realized that he was under his desk in his office and very likely hung over. His head throbbed when he looked around a little too quickly, and slowly closed his eyes to try and gather himself for a moment. 

Why was he there? Why had he gotten drunk? Why was Eschaton hugging his legs? 

A memory of the last Convocation meeting where Lahabrea had been insistent that she step down surfaced and he lifted both hands to rub his temples. It had come to light that Eschaton could draw memories from others, and it was partially his own fool fault for it too. The matter of her refusal to take a second had been brought to the Convocation's attention, and she had admitted the reasons why. That had been the turning point, he surmised, recalling the way she had bodily thrown the Speaker out a window during the recess after he had snapped and called her a plethora of unpleasant things.

From there, she had simply turned and walked away. There would be repercussions, considering Lahabrea had only barely managed to break his own fall by encasing himself in a chunk of ice. He would be bruised and sore until some of the healers saw to him, but that violence had occurred at all... 

Her Enforcers had essentially barricaded the Hanging Gardens, preventing anyone unaffiliated from entering. The Emissary saw it for the ruse it was, and immediately returned to his office to find her curled up under his desk. Knees drawn up and hugged against her chest, Eschaton's soul had been a cold, hard reflective surface that gave him little and less. He had immediately left, broken into her apartment and returned with a few creature comforts that he felt she would have enjoyed. Namely, several bottles of unidentified alcohol and two particularly fuzzy blankets. 

After that, he had tucked in next to her, back against the drawers of the mahogany desk and simply whiled away the time it would take for her to speak. After she finally relented and accepted one of the bottles he had set out for her, it took barely an hour. From there, he realized why he could never, _ever _bring his weapon of office to bear against her. 

Once she started to speak, it seemed almost as if she couldn't stop. She spoke of her insecurities, above and beyond the subtle, passive Secret that she was convinced stole the ability to choose from others. She spoke of how she was monstrous, of how it didn't matter what she did that she would always have to be alone because nothing was _real_. He knew the futility of fully convincing her otherwise until she had cried herself out, and dutifully kept turning the conversation away from morbid thoughts of the End as best he could.

She spoke of the horror of forgetting, and he scooted to sit next to her and pull her against his side as she hiccoughed through word after word. 

But that was last night, and now she was sleeping with her head pillowed against his thigh and her arms around his knees even as her feet stuck out from under the desk. Altogether uncertain as to how she had ended up like that, Ophiuchus reached to gently jostle her shoulder. She woke with a start, before curling and groaning, one hand coming up to press against her head. 

"Percy."

"...Mhn."

Polite Smile Number Four snapped into place as she slowly shifted to peer at him before he managed to ease it into a more honest, rueful grin. Waving a hand, he gestured to the desk and then out towards the chairs in his office. "I need to stand up for a moment. Will you accompany me?"

Steel wrapped blue eyes squinted at him, before she let go of his knees and shook her head. Opting to curl into a ball instead, she ignored the Emissary as he softly sighed and then hauled himself out from under the desk. Stretching, he stifled the wince at the way his joints popped and cracked as he tried to ease the stiffness that had settled into his bones. 

"... I am, truly and utterly, _fucked_..."

"I mediated the cessation of hostilities between two factions that have warred for a millennia. I feel confident that I will be able to sway things in your favour."

"Ophi, I lost my temper. I _deserve_ to be fired. Removed from office. I-" The Botanist was cut off by the swirl of darkness that curled around her and hauled her bodily out from under the desk. Adjusting his robes, the Emissary idly brushed off one of his sleeves and tilted his head at her as she hissed like a wet cat and stared up at him. 

"You were incited. Lahabrea let his temper get the better of him and approached you during a recess designed to to allow individuals to find a moment of calm." A brief moment of thought had one of his coils slipping up from his shadow and securely wrapping about her waist to pick her up and set her on her feet so that he could use his Amaurotine hands and start to fix her appearance. "Simply because you can shapeshift does not mean you are a monster. Many of our people possess alternate forms. Emet-Selch recently used his own to subdue a Creation in the form of a bird, for example."

"I-" She faltered as one of his Secrets tickled across her aether, allowing him to continue speaking as he settled his hands on her shoulders. 

"If anyone is a monster, it would be myself. I am older than you by a margin larger than socially accepted standards, and thus our tendency to seek solace and companionship with one another would be frowned upon if such was known by society. Yet still, even knowing this, you have remained at my side and allowed me to remain by yours." Polite Smile Number Three pulled the corners of his mouth upwards before he leaned in to rest his forehead against hers. The action drew a slight huff as she struggled against the aether that had silenced her, though her pout spoke volumes about what she thought about the generational difference between them. "Even should you be removed from office, the next Eschaton will have the same drawbacks and none of your proficiency in mitigating them."

Still pouting, the botanist reached out to pull him the half-step closer for a proper hug. A more natural smile settled into place across the Emissary's face, and he pulled her hood back so that he could smooth his fingers through her silver hair. It took a moment, but she eventually relaxed and at length they parted ways to prepare for the meeting he would call for later that day.

* * *

"Then clearly, we need to re-work the position of Eschaton so that it is a functional, supportive role for society-"

Elidibus coughed, interrupting the Speaker and drawing all eyes. Folding his hands in the sleeves of his robes, he stepped forward and studied Lahabrea for a long moment before speaking.

"Every role of this council, this Convocation, exists for a specific purpose. The role of the Eschaton is one that is meant to assist with the interaction of external natural forces. It is meant to double as both a sword and a shield, a medium through which compromise might be achieved." Pausing partially for effect, partially to tilt his head to the side, the Emissary let Thoughtful Frown Two settle into place across his face and hummed quietly. "We have debated this among ourselves for nearly a bell. I would like to clarify a few points before we continue." 

"You are a biased force, Elidibus. She was seen leaving your office a few bells ago, before the meeting." Lahabrea folded his arms, yellow eyes narrowing as he stared at the Emissary. "Did she stoop to bribery, to get you to speak on her behalf?"

The words hung in the air, and Ophiuchus throttled the particularly undiplomatic words that rose in his throat to instead sigh softly. "The Eschaton came to me to essentially beg for permission to take a medical leave of absence."

"A medical lea-" The Speaker threw his head back and laughed, before pointing to where the Botanist sat, shoulders hunched in her chair. "I was the one thrown from a twelveth story _window, _I can certainly vouch for how hale and hearty she is."

"I agree with your physical assessment, but not your mental one. As such, I denied her request and instead decided to requisition psychiatric assistance on her behalf. The position of the Eschaton is one that induces constant mental turmoil to the individual that bears the title of such. Exacerbated and aggravated by the constant barrage of your nettling, is it any wonder that the closest of us to the beasts and beast tribes would crack?" Turning to survey the rest of the council, the Emissary folded his hands behind his back. "Even if no official complaints have been submitted, have you not noted how regardless of what she does, Lahabrea constantly and consistently singles her out? I have noted such a thing. Emet-Selch has noted such a thing. Mitron attempted to submit a complaint on her behalf and was thwarted by her intervention." 

The Architect and Traveler exchanged a glance before the latter withered under the glare he caught from the Speaker. The former stepped forward and folded his arms. 

"This is true. Long has he attempted to control her actions and create more favourable outcomes for himself. I call into question whether or not this is some personal issue between the two of them that he has yet to let go of. 'Tis clear she seeks to avoid him as best she can, even going so far as to request the assistance of my Chief of Staff from time to time."

Elidibus refused to glance at Eschaton as he turned to face Lahabrea, but out of the corner of his eye he caught the way she had almost imperceptibly straightened. He took a moment to study the outraged expression and way the opposition had turned red under his mask and lifted his chin slightly. Polite Smile Number Two easily hid the victorious feeling that surged through him as, rather suddenly, it was the Speaker that had to defend himself.

* * *

"I can't believe you secured what is essentially two years of vacation for me."

"You will have to attend monthly therapy sessions, however your title is secure." Sitting down on the couch in his apartment, Ophiuchus stretched out his legs and removed his mask. Pushing his hood back with one hand, he patted the couch beside him with the other and then pulled Persephone against his side when she obligingly sat down next to him. 

"You essentially painted a target across your back, you know. He won't let this go." Yawning widely, Eschaton snuggled against his side and closed her eyes, exhausted from the emotional ride the last few days had been. 

"While outside the walls of Amaurot, do you not protect me?" Settling comfortably, he leaned his head back and enjoyed the simple pleasure of her proximity as she grumbled under her breath. "You are my indulgence, Persephone. The greatest of my vices. What manner of relationship partner would I be if I allowed you to be driven out of our home?"

"Not a very good one, I will admit. Though, it would cement that you are unbiased. Speaking of homes however. Embassy in Carrow?"

"You simply wish to return to the Puss-'N-Boots." A wry, honest smile crossed his face before he shifted with the way she thumped him playfully in the stomach. "I suppose I will have to pick up the tab then when you inevitably eat beyond the quota allowed by your membership."

"I'm _hungry_. I can't help it. I was so stressed I barely ate anything today. Besides, it's not only a club for eating at." 

That got his attention, and as he quirked a brow he caught sight of her almost shy grin. It took him all of three seconds to transfigure their robes into something more appropriate before a moment of focus and an idle wave drew his shadow up around them. 


	5. Canon Compliant End

She walked the city streets alone sometimes. Every time she did, she learned something new. Some hidden piece that she hadn't known she had lost, some echo flash of _him_, sitting or standing and recounting their past in that soft, sad voice of his. 

_Remember_...

It had been his last words. The dying wish of a man stretched too thin over the ages like butter, scraped over too much bread. The final task set by an ancient Sorcerer of Eld that could have killed her friends and instead brought them to the brink, time and time again, to motivate and elicit her ire. 

Once she realized that the buildings along the outer edge of the city were decaying and falling apart as the aether he saturated the city with started to fade, she made sure to start her ritual there. She didn't know if the roads would all remain by the end of it, but she did know that it was easier to get around with his magic sustaining them. She thought he would appreciate the notion that someone was paying attention to his work, seeking to imprint it across her sensibilities and memories. 

The wall of water that was held at bay first by his magic and second by the breath of Bismark, had slowly started to close in on the city.

_Remember us._

There was so much to learn. Almost too much, which prompted her to bring a note book with her so that she could take notes. She learned about the Convocation of Fourteen. She learned about Hythlodaeus. She learned that she had been _loved_. 

That one hurt. She had meandered down a side path until she came to a tiered building when he had suddenly been there. He stared at it, for several long minutes, before sighing and closing his eyes. 

(_"The Hanging Gardens. My greatest physical gift to you. Lahabrea, we later learned, attempted to sabotage my concentration. You leapt onto the stage and stood next to me, draping a coat over my shoulders to try and keep me warm as the temperature plummeted. I didn't even **feel** it, you know. When I came out of my spellcasting you were simply there and I had another layer on."_

_He opened his eyes, peering up at the empty trellises and pillars before pointing towards them._

_"You used it to give everyone a place to grow whatever they wanted. I never had the patience for gardening. Everyone in this sector of the city belonged to you, you know. Oh, 'tis not in a master and slave sense of the word. Think more akin to a pack of wolves."_

_Another sigh escaped him before he slouched, and for a moment it looked less like a habit of poor posture and more as if he was simply weighed down by the ages._

_"Something you may be familiar with. All of Eorzea is yours in the same fashion. Even those far and away in Doma and the surrounding territories could not help but rally behind you."_

_A smirk curled the corners of his lips upwards as he slowly shook his head. _

_"And above them all, you held us in your secret heart of hearts. Hythlodaeus and I, we were yours. Properly yours. Heart, mind, body and soul. And now, here we are."_)

There were more memories inside the building itself. Bits and pieces as he trailed his fingers along the walls and desks as if they held some answer he didn't actually have. Sometimes he was silent, but more often than not he shared some minor event. A fight. A party. A meeting. 

Quiet escapes to the personal garden on the roof, where the sounds of the city faded away and a thousand tender moments.

(_He knelt by one of the fountains that doubled as an irrigation method for the nearby patch of dirt. One gloved hand reached down to scoop up a handful of the dark soil, and it slowly scattered from his grasp as he rubbed his fingers together and eventually tipped his hand to the side. _

_"It was always moss, never straight against the dirt. I always wondered if you thought perhaps I disliked the ground in and of itself. I never minded. So long as I had you and Hythlodaeus, I could do anything. I could bear anything. I could even come to enjoy it. But you insisted on at least growing moss to lay on. If nothing else, it was admittedly soft."_

_A soft, sad smile crossed his features as he slowly pushed himself back up. _

_"Somehow, it was always soft, and never crumbled. Even grass was more comfortable when you were around. Everything seemed... Crisper. Brighter. More flavourful. Rafail laughed more. Your inner gremlins fed off of each other, I swear..."_)

She found their apartment quite by accident. She assumed it was for the same reasons she always found her way home after getting blackout drunk. It wasn't until she stepped out of the lift that she realized where she was, and faltered at the door. A deep breath had steadied her before she stepped in and looked around. 

It felt so right that it circled back around into a wrongness that sent her shuddering. She had immediately turned around and closed the door behind her, and from then on tried to avoid that part of the city.

_Remember... that we once lived... _

It took a little bit to figure out what she needed to once she returned to the Source. Limsa Lominsa was a busy place as always, and the random ship she had independently hired didn't seem to understand why she wanted them to sail out into the middle of nowhere, but the captain had recognized her and owed her a favour. He even promised to stick around for a full week, provided there weren't any drastic storms. 

She had nodded, before moving to the railing and jumping over. 

The pressure was _incredible_ once she reached the bottom. The darkness was countered by some glowing crystals that inevitably drew a variety of large fish that tried to eat her. She killed them, and moved on. 

The ruins were eroded. Buried in silt but still recognizable after she got her bearings. There, that had been the aetherite. The pieces rested against the half-broken platform that had been buried in rubble. That meant- oh, but it had sunk further down, the supporting attachments destroyed by repeated calamities. 

She found the ruins of the Gardens first. She had noticed the pillars first, noted the way the sea grass was particularly thick where it had rooted in the planters. Swimming down with a chunk of glowing crystal in her mouth to help shed some light, she finally made her way through the slowly swaying masses of tangled vegetation before reaching out to touch the fountain-

(_"You are just... A horrible little twerp today, Rafail." Persephone grinned as she tried in vain to scrub some of the rapidly drying paint off of her robes. Hades watched from nearby, head pillowed on his hands and an amused smirk curling his lips upwards. The Hythlodaeus in question had stripped out of his robes, revealing his lean physique as he tisked and tried to get the purple paint out of his long white hair. _

_"I ambushed you, fair and square. I would have won if not for Hades."_

_"I knew you were there." She grinned wolfishly at him as the Architect's smirk turned smug. "He didn't **need** to Create a bubble of paint above you. I would have had you either way."_

_"You still can." A sly glance was sent her way, and Persephone's bronze skin reddened slightly. A finger was crooked at her, and she snickered before lounging dramatically, using Hades as a pillow. _

_"I seem to need help with my robes. Do be a dear and give me a hand, Rafail?"_

_Emet-Selch groaned and put a hand over his face. "Well, 'tis not quite as bad as the last time you attempted to play at **seductress**."_

_Her elbow prodded him sharply in the ribs, and Hythlodaeus kept an utterly straight face as he swayed his way over and then knelt down to crawl the last few feet. She could see the smile in his eyes, even as she felt the increasing interest from both of her partners as they lowered their barriers and let their love suffuse her from the inside out._)

She couldn't cry at the bottom of the ocean. Her face was already wet. If she could taste salt then it was surely a trick of her mind. 

It was a short swim to pond where it had all started, the skeleton of the tree perfectly preserved. Settling against the trunk, she leaned her head back and felt the Echo ripple through her. The city spread out before her as memories clicked through her, stacked and rebuilt themselves into the Eschaton. 

Steel wrapped blue eyes opened to stare out at the darkness as countless moments played themselves out in front of her. 

Perfectly Remembered.


	6. V1 end (Polydegmon & the shattered Persephone)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened to Polydegmon and his Priscilla after they went back to their world. For Elysian

Priscilla-

No, _Persephone_ walked the ravaged remains of a world stripped of aether. A version of Hydaelyn (she wasn't sure if She was native or not, and that thought soured her somewhat) hadn't yet gotten to this part of the world with the... (Crellbron? Crellborn? What was a crell in the firstplace?) floating aether-locked people that escorted Her to try and fix it yet. The thought made the edges of her _ache_. 

Fix it. Something she was supposed to have done. Something she had failed at. The result stared her in the face as she almost blindly traversed the gutted ruins of what had once been Ul'dah. The memories of people walking what had been a capital of trade were fresh, but beneath them laid the memories of a bustling city of commerce where everything was legal and the parties never ended. 

Something sharp within her shifted, purely aetheric where the edges of her didn't quite line up properly the way they were supposed to, and she leaned against the nearby wall as she waited for it to pass. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end, and she let out a quiet sigh as she closed he eyes. She could feel him, that negative space where he was hiding himself. 

"I'm -fine-. Go away."

Silence answered her, and for a moment the thought that she might have finally gone crazy flit across her mind before she simply patiently waited. No, she reassured herself. He had waited for her for countless thousands of years. He was going to try and abide by her bid for distance, but obsession would only allow that for so long. Her patience paid off as a soft sigh finally answered her. 

"If you would let me help you, I could do something about the-"

"I think you've done enough." Pushing off from the wall, the shattered, barely bound together ruin of Persephone ignored the pain and continued on her way. Quiet footsteps followed her, but she knew he would leave her for a time if she told him to. She came to a stop a short distance away, recalling that the crumbled archway had once led to the thaumaturges guild. Run by lallafel. Who were dead. 

Who were held by Hydaelyn, returned to the aether they had come from and likely reborn somewhere as grass, she reminded herself. Lots of grass. They might've liked that, considering the siblings had stuck together until the end. Even the one who hadn't been able to use aether the same as the others and who instead became an alchemist. 

He didn't answer her, but her cracked senses could tell he had drawn closer even if her ears hadn't already picked up the way his footsteps had ended a short distance away. Some parts of her clicked together, and awareness flared, picking up his aether in sharp definition even without turning to look or focus. Sadness. Longing. Bitter regret. Loneliness that ached and gaped like a chasm.

The remains of the one who had once been the Eschaton recoiled sharply, and pain lanced through her aether as the pieces that had clicked together were torn apart. She didn't _want_ to see. She wasn't fit to save herself, let alone help someone else, and she hated that her first instinct was to comfort him still. Even after everything he had done. 

_Especially after everything he had done._

"_Please_, Perse-"

"You don't get to call me that." The words came out with a tired sigh. For a moment, a bitter spark of amusement coiled through her as a faint memory of thousands of years ago tried to surface and was pushed away. "You betrayed me."

He didn't make a sound. The only reason she knew he was still there was because she hadn't heard or felt him leave. She hated that she felt bad for the pain her words might have inflicted. She hated that even after he had sold her out to Zodiark, forced the final confrontation in which she had lost and then spent what felt like an eternity unable to die, being torn apart as her servitude was demanded. 

"I was _tempered_. He stuck his fingers into my _brain_ and made me get down on my knees and _beg_ for ways to serve him." The words were hissed out. The steel wrapped blue eyes of someone who had once been someone closed as he continued. "I maimed my own memories to protect the only way I could think of to get you _back_ and protect you-"

"Am I supposed to forgive you because you agreed to a stupid idea, got sick and then got me eaten. How do your thousands of years of 'being alone' stack up against my hundreds of being torn apart and put back together again just to get shredded once more in an endless loop." Exhausted facts and thoughts, words that stung regardless of the lack of spite that should have backed them drifted through the air. "It wasn't even you that got me out of there. It was a version of you that had made much better life choices recently. We've been through this before."

A soft creak of leather answered her words, before he let out a slow breath. They had been through this dance countless times. About now, she surmised, he would apologize again. 

He didn't. A faint prickle of aether washed through the air behind her, and when she turned to look he was gone. 

* * *

She couldn't die. Whatever Zodiark had done to her while trying to torture her into compliance had altered her aether to the point where major injuries sealed immediately and her body didn't seem to need food or air. She also didn't age, which she only vaguely realized because her hair never grew. She just wandered, not bothering to count the days and watching as seasons came and went. 

Her clothing showed wear and tear, and had to be repaired when she thought about it. Which wasn't often. It was only when she realized that she could feel the wind on odd parts of her that she realized she had worn holes through the shoulders and collar of her coat, which meant that her undershirt was disintegrating. She re-wove what she could any of the nearby plants that she could find at the time, but gave up when she realized she wasn't able to. Instead, she dimly searched the memories of happier times that hurt almost as much as the horrible ones, and remembered how to weave aether and restore them. 

Mostly, she wandered around numb. 

She had taken to avoiding _him_. He was making no effort to hide his aether, but also mostly seemed to be staying in one spot. The spots of the star that were dead were becoming harder and harder to find. And then one day...

One day, she came across something strange. 

In a valley, beneath the trees, there were insects. Not particularly big ones, but living things that weren't plants. She didn't know how long she stayed there, watching them, but time was a loose concept that didn't matter to her. Their empire rose and spread. What shook her out of her silent vigil was a surge of aether and then the absence of Hydaelyn. 

For all that she had walked the world, now she _ran_. 

She ran until she felt _his_ aether. Then she slowed, and stared numbly at the simple, beaten dirt path that led to the rough collection of tree-top huts. Inhabited by... 

They looked like people, almost. With too-long arms and covered in fur. Squat legs. They were hooting and hollering at one another as _he_ drifted down out of the sky to land on a platform. He made a few gestures and grunted, before they all calmed and went about their day. 

Pale gold eyes lifted to meet hers, flinched, and dropped to the side. 

The mass of fragments that had once been Priscilla turned and walked away.

* * *

Civilizations of primitive peoples had started rising up in odd places. A species here or there started showing intelligence enough to use tools, and eventually _he_ would show up. She always left when he did, a silent trade. She would keep the wild animals from eating the potential _people_, and then he would come around and teach them some small, simple things. She cycled to one of the other civilizations, and would wonder at how they all seemed to be... 

Well, _peaceful_.

They fought off predators, but when two of the tribes of very different people met they traded, used the same beginnings of language to compare their knowledge of the world and then went their separate ways. Some part of her wanted to be proud. It was clearly _his_ work.

It surprised her when she found what was unmistakably a road. She followed it into a village and blinked at the stone wall and gate that framed it, peering at the much less furry people that rather more resembled the hyur of old. They wore clothing, bore stone and wood weapons, and as she approached the gate the two that were guarding it perked up. 

Then they looked at each other, looked back at her, and bowed. 

"The Wanderer has graced our village! We will throw a feast tonight. Would you wish to join us for the celebration, Wanderer?"

Words. Actual, proper words. Some part of her mind didn't want to understand them. Another part wondered just how long she had been walking. It seemed only yesterdecacentury that they hadn't spoken in more than grunts and gestures. Her tongue felt like lead in her mouth, so she simply shook her head and backed away. The guards made no move to follow her, instead turning to talk excitedly to each other before one ran into the village. 

A slightly faster jog took her along the road to the other end, where she found another village after what might have been a few weeks. She had lost count after the first few days, because it was hard to remember that it mattered. For the first time, she cursed her inability to focus on the concept of days and nights. 

The same thing happened. Two guards, a stone wall and gate. An almost ceremonial declaration of 'The Wanderer' gracing their village, and an offer to stay for a celebration. 

Something inside of her _hurt_. She needed answers. Only one person had them.

* * *

It was easy to find him. It wasn't like he was hiding. She found him in a cottage on the shore, overlooking where Amaurot had once sank into the ocean just as he stepped out with a wicker basket of laundry. He simply stared at her, pale gold eyes soaking up everything about her that they could. She could see the resignation on his face as he came to the conclusion that it was surely an accident, that she would turn around and leave. 

The ragged mass of aether that had once been known as the Eschaton took a single step forward, and a voice that hadn't been used in an age croaked out a rasp as she tried to ask-

"_Why_."

He turned around and went back into the cottage. She took the way the door had been left open as the invitation he meant it to be, and crossed the distance to step through it. Simple wooden teacups had been set out as he boiled water in a kettle over an open fire pit. 

"You should have spoken more over the years. Your throat will hurt for a while. I have honey, and what passes for tea."

Something inside of her curled, painfully greedy for his voice, and she almost choked as she forced it back down. Instead, she stepped in and sat down on the petrified wooden log that served as one of the chairs by the fire to wait. It didn't take long before he poured each of them a cup of water, added honey and rough cheesecloth bags with shredded leaves of some kind in them. He set hers down on the wood that edged the cooking fire pit, tucking a wooden spoon into her cup and then pushing it towards her. 

"I have a map, you know. Of everything that encompasses civiliza-"

"Wanderer. _Why._" She made no move to touch her tea despite the way her throat had started to hurt. The pain would go away soon. It always did. 

"They started coming up with their own legends of you. I simply corrected them a little bit, in the interest of preserving the truth."

"And yo-" She broke out into a fit of coughing, looking baffled. Her throat should have stopped hurting, she thought to herself.

"The truth about myself as well. They started calling me the 'Builder', because I taught them how to build houses, fire, spears and bows. Drink some tea. It will help your throat."

"It shouldn't hurt still." 

"It takes you a lot longer to heal than you might realize, Wanderer. I believe you simply disconnect from the passing of time, making it feel as though it takes far less." The words were quiet, and he looked down into his tea and tried not to comment about how it was true for far more than simply her throat. "You used to stand in one place for days after getting mauled by one thing or another, regardless of the rain as your body recovered."

She thought to refute him, but he must have been telling the truth. He couldn't _not_, after all. Reluctantly, she picked up the wooden cup and stirred it slightly, watching the ripples. They sat in silence for a long moment, her on the log and him on the floor with the elevated fire pit between them as she slowly sipped her tea. It was surprisingly sweet, though she supposed that might have been because she hadn't consumed anything for a very long time.

She felt like she should have hated him for being right about how it helped, but found herself smiling slightly instead.

"... All of the truth? Did you tell them all of the truth?"

"All of it."

She sipped her tea again, and for once when something shifted within her, it wasn't painful at all. 

"... Tell me about it?"


End file.
